


A Semblance of Reality

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every mech knows that Ratchet has a capture not kill bounty on his helm. But not many know how he got it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Semblance of Reality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/gifts).



> Written for the TF Gift Exchange on Dreamwidth.
> 
>  **Prompt:** 'Anything with Ratchet will make me happy'
> 
>  **Warnings:** implied torture, sticky and P &P, dark themes

Hands tighten around my throat, claws brushing up against vital components, etching shallow furrows into the outer casing of my vocaliser and wrapping around energon and coolant tubing. I still. The harsh grating of an overworked cooling system and the rattle of my plating the only sounds in the corridor.

“Better.” The voice is soft, caring even, a contrast to the harsh grip, the electromagnetic field entwining with mine full of barely leashed menace.

Footsteps stop close by, and I can see a vague flash of colour out of the corner of my optical array, but I don't have enough freedom to turn my helm, not unless I want to tear out my own energon lines. My attacker hisses, a static laced growl, fair warning that an interruption will not be tolerated. The other mech obviously doesn't fancy his chances as the footsteps retreat, fading down the corridor.

The Decepticons, I've come to see, live by a strange set of rules, but in the end it all comes down to one thing: power, and it comes in many forms, not all of it to do with physical strength. Even being a relatively new member of the Decepticon forces, there are few mechs that would challenge or attack me, after all, why antagonise the mech that could later on be the one that is going to keep you from extinguishing? The possibility of a medic _accidentally_ snipping something vital doesn't go unappreciated, it might be against our medical coding, but, well, we keep that quiet.

However there are always some exceptions to the rule, some mechs that just don't care, and they are not worth arguing with, not unless you want to meet Primus, or Unicron in some of these mechs cases. And of course, the one currently pinning me to a purple hued wall is one of those.

“Open up.” Claws of the hand not currently buried in my wiring taps at one of my access ports and I twist away as best I can, plating scraping against the wall. I can feel the optics of the security mechs watching; if this were an Autobot base they would already be on their way to help, but here no mech will dare to go up against my attacker.

“Don't make me hurt you mech.” Tension cords in the black digits tighten, such a small degree, his control absolute as the tip of one punctures an energon line, the warmth of the fluid slowly dripping into the wiring in my neck as he gently tugs downwards. I don't have a choice unless I want to lose more of the rather important components near his claws. On my knees we are the same height, although I still outmass him, but my bulk is nothing to him.

I snarl, my defiance met with a smirk in the scarlet optics as his free hand splays across my chest, a silent warning as he traces the seams of my armour around my spark casing. This is not a fight I can win, the faint whirr of transformation as my armour slides back to reveal my uplink port is loud in the silence.

“Good mech.” He croons as he plugs himself in before opening his own ports and I let my data cable unspool so that he can complete the circuit.

His presence hovers outside my firewalls for a moment before he lets himself in, my defences meaning nothing to him, the firewalls parting at a simple burst of code. **Sorry Ratch, how are you holding up?** I can feel him rifling through my processor, double checking partitions and firewalls, my own system logging coding changes as he tweaks things.

 **I'm okay. What's wrong?** He wouldn't have done this if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Even disguising our meetings as interfacing is dangerous. He's worked himself deep enough into the Decepticons that they let him be, fear of what he could do to them if they interfere holding them back, they won't even intervene with him taking a lower ranked mech against their will, as evidenced by the lack of help for myself. But it is a ruse we don't want to use too often, familiarity would indicate an attachment on his part, and that is a weakness that many mechs would exploit. And if they exploit it, well, let us just say that I am the weaker link.

 **I've got the keycode to the cells. Be ready for my signal.** Anticipation and a sense of excitement curls around me, and I can't tell if they are his emotions or my own. Although the fear and apprehension is all mine.

 **I've been ready to get out of here since I entered this base.** Far, far too long ago, though it has not yet been a full vorn.

 **Good.** He says as he feels my assent and understanding, his presence withdrawing again to the outer edges of my firewalls. **Seems we have an audience.** I blink my optical array focus returning to the corridor where several Decepticons are lounging against a nearby wall. They know better than to interrupt, but they aren't above having a free show. **Relax Ratch, if they're gonna watch, make it worth it.** One hand strokes across my primary interface panel, tracing the seam between it and my thigh.

If some mech had told me several cycles ago that I'd be interfacing with a mech who could extinguish me in a matter of nanoseconds while up against a wall in a public corridor in a Decepticon stronghold I'd have laughed at them.

Now I think I'm almost getting used to the, what would be considered rather vulgar displays by most of the Autobots. Private or public really isn't a concern for many of the 'Cons. Something to do with many of the lower ranks never having privacy before anyway, not in the old cramped mining colonies and such that Megatron recruited from in the beginning of his uprising.

 **Quit thinking so much and join in** I am jolted back out of my thoughts by a pulse of amusement down our link and the warning message on my heads up display letting me know that the manual release on my interfacing panel has just been triggered.

“There now, not so bad is it.” He switches back to audible speech, his voice pitched to carry to the watching mechs, and, no doubt to the security cameras. “Are you going to be good?”

I let my optics dart over to our audience, still not one finger is raised to help me and I let my shoulders slump. Let them think that I am merely giving in to the inevitable, that I am accepting this only because the mech holding me could take my life if I don't agree.

“Good mech.” Jazz croons as he finally removes his claws from my neck, my systems relaxing once the threat is removed, from my uter armour to my internal components, each one held rigid until it was safe to move. Only to tense again as those same claws trace lightly around my exposed valve entrance and up my spike. I'm not sure which is worse, having them at my throat or around my increasingly sensitive equipment. Knowing that I can trust those very sharp weapons and actually doing so are separate functions.

 **Why would I damage you Ratch, I'd have to deal with Hook.** I can't help but be amused at the ridiculous image that conjures up, feared Decepticon assassin slinking away from an enraged medic. The lightness is all I needed for my systems to finally wind down enough to clear my processor of extraneous data and simply enjoy the moment.

“Better.” His optical band is bright, the glowing garnet all but twinkling at me and I can see the smirk behind the battle-mask his Decepticon persona wears as I press into his hand, nor can I stop the whine that escapes my vocaliser.

Two can play at that game though. I raise my hand slowly, careful enough that it will appear tentative for our audience, to stroke along a sensory projection on his helm. Heavily modified for audial reception they are also quite reactive to tactile stimulation. He purrs, the sub-vocal sound thrumming across my frame wherever we are touching, warmth flashing across our datalink as he bounces the sensory data back to me.

Kneeling in a corridor is not the easiest of positions but it doesn't seem to bother my partner as he guides himself into my valve, the sub-vocal purr becoming an audible groan. He doesn't seem to care about me as he starts to move, setting a rough pace, and the Decepticons are quite happy telling him to go faster and harder from there safer positions out of reach. I can feel Jazz's humour though as he shares his sensory data across our link in a consensual loop that the 'Cons can't imagine we have.

There are times I think that I'd take this mission on even knowing that I'd end up here just so I can 'face with Jazz, the smaller mech knows exactly how to wind a mech up.

With the pace he is setting it is no wonder that my vision blacks out and sound fades, all non essential functions shut down to protect them from energy surges as charge dances across my armour

I reboot in a whirl of battle protocols, weapons humming before I check them and pull their power, starkly aware of the sudden silence in my own processor. It would have served Jazz right if I had shot him, he insisted on having my weapons boot up before anything else.

“Good medic.” I give Jazz a half sparked snarl as he saunters off and I drag myself back to my feet to continue to my original location before I was accosted and so thoroughly distracted.

* * *

The rec room is always loud here, although perhaps recreational room isn't the correct term for the place, it seems to be more like a gladiator pit most of the time. Just getting to the energon dispensers takes some skill, and getting away with a full cube takes even more. How the Decepticons are able to hold their own, let alone push the Autobots back so far is still a mystery when a cycle doesn't go by when at least half of them aren't nursing injuries caused by infighting.

At least I must be looking annoyed enough for none of them to bother me, as a small path opens up to let me pass. It is very much appreciated as I slide into a seat in an unused corner, my back to the wall, no mech with any common sense would leave his back turned to the rest of the room..

I shake my helm as violence flares again, smaller mechs scattering away before they are crushed by the shuttles that are fighting.

“Mind if we join you?” I have to abort the now instinctive response to power up my weapon systems as I pull my attention away from the fight and back to where it should be. On the mechs that had approached my isolated corner; letting them get this close could have been deadly. Thankfully today it is some of the saner mechs that have appeared and I wave a hand at the unoccupied chairs.

“Thanks.” Scrapper says as he turns a chair to face outwards and sits himself down, his optics lingering on my new scratches and dents for a moment before he obviously decides not to say anything. “Hook isn't going to be pleased about that.” He gestures towards the slowly growing pool of spilt energon with his cube.

“Hook's never pleased.” Counterpunch puts in as he props his helm up on the table which vibrates as Blitzwing hits the floor, his optics dark well before his frame makes contact with the unyielding surface.

I shake my helm at the small frontliner, although what he has said is perfectly true, at least, I've never seen the armour worker truly happy about anything. Downing the rest of my cube I at least have the decency to throw out a quick scan in the triple changers direction to ensure he isn't going to extinguish from energon loss before his self repair seals things. Command staff are never too happy when fights get out of hand and mechs are extinguished, after all, every frame is another asset that could be used in the fight against the Autobots.

“That's because we spend all our time repairing idiots.” I finally reply when my scan comes back suggesting that he'll be fine on his own. Neither of them deny my observation, the Decepticons do have a lot of rather stupid mechs in their ranks. Although that is more a factor of the Decepticon leadership, Megatron in particular is good at promising mechs what they want and his natural charisma had lured many of the lowest class mechs into fighting for him. Of course, lower class also meant unable to afford upgrades and datapacks, and thus, less well read.

Cannon fodder is all that they are for the most part, nonetheless it is a strategy that has been working; the Decepticons are winning. The lower rank and file may not be able to out think the Autobot forces but sheer numbers are overwhelming them.

“Have you heard the news yet?” Scrapper asks after a short pause and from the way his armour is vibrating with excitement he has been waiting to tell us something since he sat down.

“No. What am I meant to have heard this time?” Gestalts always seemed to know the latest gossip, having five or six chances to overhear things is an advantage most mechs don't have.

“The matrix has chosen a new bearer.”

I have to work to keep the happiness out of my tone and to stop even a hint of a smile showing on my face even though I actually already know that bit of information. “Any idea who it's chosen?” Of course, I know that too, but it is what any Decepticon would ask and I have to keep up my cover.

“Not yet, the bots are no doubt keeping the knowledge to only their top ranks.” Scrapper shrugs slightly, even gestalt chatter is only good for so much.

This would be the entire reason Jazz had taken a chance in communicating with me, this could be the turning point in the war. The event that turns us back towards a victory which has been growing slimmer since Sentinel was extinguished. It wasn't even that long ago, the Matrix has chosen quickly, I can only hope it isn't a decision driven by haste and the new Lord Prime will not be as... impossible as Sentinel was.

He is the reason I am here in the first place. Folly, special operations had told him, to send an untrained mech into enemy territory to recover one mech who might possibly have information. However he had insisted, citing that the information we gained could change the entire war. Well he got that one right.

* * *

It had been an unusual request, to report to Sentinel Prime's office. I had racked my processor for anything I could have done to gain the Primes attention or interest, but nothing came to mind. Pinging the door for admittance I slipped in as it opened, bowing to the Lord Prime and trying not to stare at the other two mechs that were present. Both a monochrome silver, they screamed special operations, I flicked a scan in their direction, unsurprised when it returned blank. Sensor bafflers weren't uncommon amongst ops, made repairing them much more difficult unless one could convince them to turn them off.

“We're in perfect repair.” The larger of the two said, turning slightly to the Prime, handing control of the meeting back to him rather than letting my distraction derail it as the smaller mech flashed me a grin.

“One of the operations agents has called in. He has sensitive information we must acquire. He has also been damaged. He's hiding out in the ruins of Praxus.” Sentinal laced his fingers together as he focussed all his attention in my direction. I good war leader he might not be, but the pure presence of the Matrix could not be denied. He didn't need to ask if I understood, I already knew what he was implying.

“You want a medic to help.”

“A deactivated mech won't be of much use to us.” The apparently senior, although one never could tell with them, ops mech said, “but this is your choice.” That almost sounded like a way out, but neither of the silver mechs were letting anything show. It didn't stop Sentinel from glancing their way, reproach? Disapproval? I wasn't totally sure, in his gaze.

“All you need me to do is find him, repair him and then get back out?”

“Essentially. Jazz here will be accompanying you. If you choose to go” The smaller mech waggled his fingers in a ridiculous imitation of a variety of organic species we had encountered apparently unbothered by the censure in the Prime's optics for his unbecoming behaviour.

“Why me?” I had to ask.

“You aren't afraid to fight for a patients life, and I'm not referring to within the repair bay.” The ops mech replied before Sentinel could answer. “If I have to send a medic on the mission then I'd rather have one I can rely on to not fall apart if you run into trouble.”

I nodded, that was true enough, some of the medics hadn't adjusted to war time conditions nearly as well as I had. I was one of the few that carried an offensive rifle, most refused to carry anything except stasis inducers, or in a few cases, no weaponry at all. A noble idea, but in practice, a fine way to go to greet Primus.

“I'll do it.”

It wasn't until I had left the office, Jazz by my side that I had no idea what exactly this mission would entail, except for repairing an injured mech somewhere in the ruins of a contested zone.

“I need to get you outfitted with our standard field kit before we go.” He clamped a hand onto my arm, the tug of magnets letting me know he wasn't taking no for an answer as he dragged me into the operations and intelligence wing of the headquarters. It was surprisingly similar to the rest of the base, not at all as secretive as I expected.

For all his apparently easy going nature Jazz was quick and efficient, stocking my subspace and hustling us out with a minimum of fuss. He also insisted on a repaint, and wasn't that a shock, seeing silvery grey and a deep maroon instead of my usual red and white. But most disturbing of all was the lack of a brand, no mark of allegiance on my armour. Even my transmitter had been reconfigured to give out a neutral response when contacted. It left me feeling vaguely naked, like I was missing something vital, similar to losing armour to repairs and knowing that bare protoform is easy to damage.

::We're heading into the neutral zone, keep a sharp sensor out for Decepticon patrols.::

::Will do.:: I had never been this far into Praxus since it had been razed to the ground, the rescue teams hadn't told us half the story. There were barely any buildings left intact, most had been reduced to rubble. It made for hard travelling, the shattered remains of buildings forcing us out of our alternate forms and onto our two feet to better pick our way through the debris once we left the more well travelled patrol routes.

::This way.:: Jazz abruptly said as he swung around, following a beacon I couldn't sense. Whatever it was he wound his way across the city without faltering. ::Easy. Wait here.:: He pointed towards a collapsed wall, the scant shelter not helping my nerves as he vanished into the debris.

::Clear:: I jumped at the hand on my shoulder strut, I stumbled backwards, my cannon pulled from subspace to point straight at Jazz. He didn't even flinch as I growled at him for trying to get himself disabled as he clambered down off the wall. ::This way, he's not doing too well.::

Another fact to add to my growing collection about Jazz is that he is a master of understatements; the mech wasn't just 'not doing too well', he was more 'close to a very permanent deactivation'.

Still operating under a comm and verbal black out I couldn't say anything to him without knowing his personal frequency and the only way to get that was to ping him across an open channel on a wideband transmission where any mech in the vicinity could overhear, but I could feel the buzz of highly encrypted transmissions passing between the unnamed mech and Jazz. Settling beside him I frowned as Jazz unspooled a datacable and plugged himself in.

::What are you doing?:: I hissed through our link, was he trying to further weaken the mech?

::I'm doing my job.:: Jazz replied, only the faintest hint of a waver in his otherwise emotionless tone. ::If he offlines then it will be for nothing, this way at least his deactivation will have meaning.::

::Is it really worth his life?:: I asked as I hooked him up to my energon lines, he was dangerously low, enough that I didn't dare attempt any repairs until his energon levels had risen a little higher.

::It's worth enough that he is willing to lay down his life to get it back to us.:: Jazz replied.

I had nothing to say to that. To be so dedicated to the Autobots... I'm not sure I would be so willing to put that before my own functioning. I duck my helm, avoiding Jazz's knowing gaze by starting on the repairs, stopping leaks and gently teasing fragments of shrapnel out of the delicate protoform from where they have been embedded having been only slowed not stopped by the thick outer armour.

Too little, too late.

I could feel his field wavering, mimicking his faltering spark. I could't deal with that there. If we were back in the medical bay it would have been easy, but here I am fighting a loosing battle. Perhaps if we had found him earlier...

Jazz doesn't say a word as I pulled my hands away from the mech, without the technology to keep his spark stable I couldn't keep him online. Much as I may wish to be, I am no miracle worker.

::Disconnect, we have company.:: Jazz didn't wait for me as he pulled his gun out of subspace and moved towards an overhanging building his silvery armour blending in against the ceramic dusted steel behind him.

::What?:: I wasn't picking anything up as I unhooked my transfer cable, leaving a trail of energon behind in my haste.

::Too late, slag it, act scared.:: Jazz commed as he melted into the shadows, optics dulling and even the faint ping of his presence on my scanner disappearing. ::Tell 'em you're a neutral medic and that you found the frame.::

The waver in my vocaliser as I repeat that must have helped as they didn't shoot and the weapons lowered away from my spark chamber.

“Medic are you?” The largest of the three mechs asked as he stepped forwards, sweeping wings melding with ground repulsors, even if I wanted to try and run, I don't think I'd be able to lose a triple changer easily. His scanner tingled across my frame, but whatever Jazz had installed did its job as he made no comment about any of the things that a neutral medic really should have no access to. “The Decepticon cause is always looking for medics.”

Oh slag. Would they take no for an answer?

::Roll with it, I can't help you if you're deactivated.:: The comm is barely a whisper across my processor and it goes unnoticed by the Decepticons. It also answered my question.

“You wouldn't need to drain other mechs just to survive.” One of the other Decepticons pointed out as he examined the frame and it drew my gaze. The open port and energon trail made for a convincing story and I felt my tanks churn as I realised what they were thinking, of course it looked like I had been draining his fuel rather than trying to keep him online. My own, now quite low levels their scans would pick up no doubt only adding to the charade.

“I suppose.” I tilted my helm, attempting to appear thoughtful. “But I don't want to fight.”

“You actually qualified?”

“As a medic? Yes.” I didn't think telling him I was an honours graduate of Iacon Academy was the best plan. Let them assume that I was local trained by a Master in a small clinic.

“Then you won't have to fight. All you need to do is put mechs back together and in return we'll supply you with energon.”

It was not an offer I could turn down, not with the odds against escaping and surviving quite low, and the probable outcome of refusal being no better. This hadn't been part of the mission briefing, and to make matters worse, Jazz had vanished. I was on my own.

I didn't think I did too badly for that first cycle, given that I was alone with no training or guidance in an enemy stronghold. In fact, I think I did rather well. That classification of course being based upon my continued functioning. I'd been checked over again before being added to the Decepticon roster and practically dumped in the repair bay, both because it was to be my new workplace, and for a small procedure. Despite the fact that I had deactivated several sectors of my sensor net I could still feel my paint burning and the metal of my armour melting. The symbol I had been fighting against now proudly displayed on my plating.

The mechs I had too work with weren't too bad, they had loomed while I had put the participants of a brawl back together and then disappeared, obviously having determined that I had been telling the truth about my medical skills. None of them seemed to care if I believed in the cause or whether I was just seeing the work as a source of fuel.

The quarters I had been given were shared, much like amongst the Autobots, and they also put mechs on opposite shifts. Although here that may have been to prevent fights as much as to give a semblance of privacy. Whatever the reason it was with great relief that I let the door slide shut and the lock engage behind me before I collapsed face down onto the berth.

Only to find a hand wrapped around my throat as another electromagnetic field tangled with mine. I froze as I felt something slip under my collar armour, the muzzle of a gun already humming with power.

“Open up.” My assailant growled as he traced the outline of my dataport hatch, his gun twisting and grating against the wiring in my neck.

Absolutely not. The fact that I am an Autobot would be the first thing he would pick out of my processor. “No.” I couldn't help but wince at the quaver in my vocaliser.

“Yes.” I felt several wires tear loose, sharp jolts of pain that flashed through my neural net as he made his point. “Open up or I'll force them.”

I frantically tried to firewall anything related to the Autobots as clawed digits dug into my side, seeking access. I felt the cover give and shuddered.

I could have survived a quick interface. But connecting up. No. I felt the first whispers of another presence outside my firewalls and attacked. All my pent up frustration and fear channelled into making the other mech disconnect. 

**Ratchet? Ratch? Ratch! Slag it, it's me, quit fighting me.**

Jazz? I don't think I'd ever been so relieved in all my functioning, although I had to wonder what took him so long.

 **Had to go change my colour scheme so I could just wander in.** He answered my question as his gun cools, withdrawing from against my protoform.

He obviously felt my confusion as I received a faint sense of amusement from his end of the link. **This is an established 'Con personality I have. Designation Ricochet, assassin by trade, so I can get away with wandering in when I feel like it.**

 **Were you trying to give me a spark-attack?** I snarled at him now my spark pulse is returning to normal and my higher processor threads are settling back into their normal parameters, panic no longer tying up half my logical reasoning.

 **Cameras could be anywhere.** He was not at all apologetic. **I have to keep up appearances.** A short pause and I was tempted to try and throw him off so I can turn around, but he spoke again before I gathered the courage to try. **I need access to your processor, I'm going to set you up some ops style firewalls. We may be here for a little while.**

 **What?** I didn't mean to blurt that out, but I had been expecting him to say that he had a way out and we would be leaving as soon as possible.

**The information I got was about something big Megatron is planning, but nothing certain, it was all rumour and hearsay. I need to find out what is going on.**

Of course I hadn't been happy, but I was in no position to argue. All I could do was keep my helm down and play the good Decepticon medic while keeping my audios open. In the end though it hadn't mattered. Megatron made his move before we found out what he was planning.

Sentinel Prime was extinguished and the Autobots were left reeling by the blow.

New orders had arrived from a mech who had simply appeared from nowhere before vanishing as quickly and quietly. Although Jazz assured me that he was still around.

With Sentinel offline the Matrix had chosen a new bearer, a non-military mech who would need all the help he possibly get to settle into his new role. The senior Autobots left in command had determined that one of those best set to help the new Prime would be Sentinel's old second in command. A rather brilliant tactician designated Prowl. Unfortunately he had been taken alive by the 'Cons in the same strike that had destroyed our last Prime.

Our orders were to recover him and return to the Autobots.

* * *

“You listening?”

“Sorry.” I apologise as Scrapper pokes me. Inattention, as I have told myself so many times recently, will get me extinguished, especially reminiscing about the past cycles. With my luck today would be the day Soundwave reappears from whatever base he is overseeing and would pick up on my processor threads.

“So, what was holding all your attention?”

“Just wondering if the new Prime will listen to reason and surrender.” Internally I have to apologise for voicing such a thought, as I paste a contemplative look on my facial plates.

Counterpunch flicks his armour dismissively, “I doubt that. The day the 'Bots surrender is the day Megatron holds the Matrix.” Except for the derision that was an almost Autobot worthy declaration, just add in a bit of conviction that the time will never come because Megatron ever holding the Matrix is a ludicrous suggestion and it would fit right in with any propaganda advertisement, not that they are doing much good anymore. Not with every sector of the planet already embroiled in the war, those who haven't already joined a side yet probably have no intention of doing so unless, like me, they have no choice in the matter..

Scrapper nods his agreement as he finishes his cube. “Hopefully that'll come sooner than later. I'm sick of dealing with idiots every orn.”

“To Megatron.” I say as I raise my cube and down what's left before standing up.

“Heading back to the repair bay?” Scrapper asks as I stretch out my joints and he joins me when I nod. Some mechs may be low enough in the ranks and not worth stopping to challenge, (or in Jazz's case simply too dangerous) but both myself and Scrapper have medical training and I have almost grown used to being accosted by injured mechs and forced to repair them before I can go on my way. Travelling in pairs is a good way to avoid unwanted advances or untimely stops.

“Thanks.” I say as we fall into step, the corridors mercifully clear, I need recharge and a good defrag of my main processor before I can truly process what Jazz told me earlier; that this sojourn amongst my enemies could soon be coming to an end.

“You all right?” Hook asks as soon as I enter the repair bay, a scan washing over my electromagnetic field, making my sensors tingle. Frag it, I hadn't meant to come here, but I'd been so absorbed in my own thoughts that Scrapper had steered me here without me realising what he had done. “Scrapper said that Ricochet got hold of you.” Slagging gestalts, what one knows they all know, but Scrapper had made his excuses and left before he had to enter the repair bay. Probably to avoid me cursing him out for letting Hook know how I got my latest damage.

“I'm fine, just sore.” Hook snorts softly as I make my way to the berth he is indicating.

“He's left dents.” His fingers lightly trace the bent metal. “Stay still, I'll pound them out.” I can feel my processor slipping towards recharge as he straightens my plating, the reports that he doesn't care for his patients since he isn't a true medic clearly yet another propaganda exaggeration. He's brusque and not at all gentle with most of the mechs that come through here, and definitely a perfectionist, but totally uncaring is not in any description that I would give him.

And he's not the only mech that I've seen in a new light in my time here. Soundwave isn't quite the mono-toned emotionless drone that he is reported to be, not after I caught him playing with Ravage. And Megatron does care for the mechs in his command, at least he does to an extent, but that was more than the reports ever gave. Amongst the Autobots it is said that he will eliminate mechs for simply disagreeing with him. I haven't seen that happen. Yet anyway.

::Report to my office medic.:: The comm startles me as the sender leaves no designation before the distinctive growl makes me realise just who had contacted me, although I have no idea how he got hold of my private comm frequency.

“Megatron wants to speak with me.” Hook's optics flicker and I can read in his expression that he wants to know what I have done to be ordered to report to Megatron himself, but he wisely keeps his vocaliser muted and simply steps back, masking his annoyance at leaving a job half finished as he waves me out. No mech kept Megatron waiting, not even Hook.

All too quickly I was arriving at the command centre, the door sliding open, my hand still extended to press the chime. “Come in medic.” The rumbling vocals sent a shiver down my spinal strut as I step into the Warlord's office.

“Sit down.” I park my aft in the chair indicated as I resist the temptation to purge, the feeling of my fuel processing tanks churning with dread is not at all pleasant. “I'm sure you've heard the rumours that a new Prime has been selected.” Megatron carried on as soon as I gave him an affirmative. “Then I am also sure that you have worked out that this will help to rally the Autobots.”

Well, of course it would, any mech with half a processor could tell that would happen.

“I will of course be using this to my advantage. Imagine if you can, if we assassinate their new Prime so soon after the last.”

“You plan to take out the new Prime.” I don't need to fake the shock I am feeling as I repeat his last words. The Autobots, as far as Jazz has let me know, still have no idea how Sentinel was taken out, for them, _us_ , to lose another Prime so quickly... It really could be the end of the war and not in the Autobots favour. 

“I do indeed. And this is where you come in. I have need of your skills.” Cryptic much? He doesn't elaborate and I stare at his lightly clasped claws resting on his desk for a long moment before I gather the courage to ask him to elaborate.

“My skills my lord?”

“Yes.” A smirk settles onto his facial plating. “You see, I found a novel way to remove the Prime. If I can't get one of my Decepticons in to do the deed, Sentinel was far too well protected even for Ricochet to get close to. And they will be guarding the new Prime even more fervently, so why not have an Autobot do it instead? And it just so happens we have an Autobot here that will do just fine.”

* * *

Why did I never give a thought to what would happen if I needed to contact Jazz? He always found me, but now I need him he is nowhere to be found. If we want to get Prowl out it has to be this cycle. Any longer and Megatron wants me to... I can't even think about it without my coding rebelling.

He wants me to hack him.

Not the way an interrogator would, by breaking down his firewalls, but using my medical programming. Slip into his very base coding and change it.

I've heard rumours about mechs who turn on their own comrades, but there has never been any proof that it is anything but the stress of war or a breakdown, nothing to show that reprogramming is to blame.

But Megatron has shown me the process, shown me what part I am meant to play and I know this will work.

We need to get Prowl out.

And possibly even more importantly, I need to get out. The knowledge I hold, well, let me just say that we need to create a whole new type of firewalls to stop Megatron from being able to use this idea on any other mechs. Of course I could simply sabotage this attempt, let Prowl take the knowledge I hold back to the Autobots, but I fear I wouldn't survive, Megatron wouldn't leave loose ends around, and I would surely be a loose end and I would much prefer to remain functioning.

Luck must surely be on my side as I spot my target, intercepting him with a deliberate collision, sending us crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs. ::Megatron is going to hack Prowl and make him into a sleeper agent next cycle.:: I hiss through the comm link that we still have as I make various excuses and apologies aloud.

His field flares with surprise and shock before he catches himself and modulates both it and the set of his armour into annoyance as he pushes me away. ::Acknowledged.:: “Fragging stupid medic, look where you are going next time.” He doesn't give me a backwards glance as he strides off and I relax, the tension leaving my frame now that I have passed on the word.

“You're lucky he didn't gut you for that.” I nod at the other mech as I clamber back to my feet.

“I'm going to go recharge, need it after that scare.” I have no idea how good Jazz's audios are but I can only hope he heard that and will know where to find me when he makes his move.

* * *

The battered mech raises his helm as we enter, his mouth twisting up into a bitter smile. “Come to gloat?” I frown at the minute flinch, the barest flicker of armour from Jazz as he strides across the cell.

“No.”

Prowl turns his helm away, mangled sensor panels twitching, a flash of pain crossing his face before he stills them. “What then? Thought you'd come have some fun?” Disgust colours his tone as he all but spits the last word.

“Not exactly.” Jazz says as he releases the chains holding the injured tactician. He doesn't move as the mech sinks to his knees, his arms trembling. “My designation is Jazz, Autobot operations and intelligence.”

I am in a perfect position to see Prowls face, disbelief and hope mingling as he stares at the arm Jazz is extending. “Why now? The question is quiet, as if he doesn't really want to know the answer, or perhaps doesn't truly believe that our rescue is genuine. “Why wait for so long.”

“It's taken this long to gain access without having all those guards around.” Regret swirls around the small operations agent and I get the feeling I am missing something in this conversation. It hits me all at once, the connection that I am missing. Jazz's cover is an assassin, and from the rumours I have heard around the base, a fine interrogator. No wonder Prowl isn't exactly willing to trust him.

“And the camera?” Prowl points out, helm turning to view the corner of his cell.

“Malfunctioning.” Jazz says succinctly and I am left to wonder how he managed that.

“Your accomplice?” One dented hand motions towards me and I step forward when the motion makes him stumble, only Jazz's frame keeping him upright.

“Ratchet, Autobot medic.” It feels strange to say that, I've been using a different designation for so long. I'm not the only one surprised as I feel the flash of curiosity in Prowl's field.

“Ops are using medics now?” I let my scanners wash over his frame, knowing before I do that I will have to beat my coding back down when it tries to insist that I stop and repair every little dent and scratch. We simply don't have the time, all I can do is check that there are no issues which are going to send him into stasis lock, or extinguish him before we complete our escape.

“Most mechs are still in the rec room drinking away the spoils of a successful raid, we should be clear to go.” Jazz says as he urges Prowl to move, the tactician hissing in pain with each step.

“Hold it.” I freeze, my armour rattling until I still it. “What the slag are you doing with him?”

“Taking him to the repair bay.”

“Taking him to the repair bay?” One of the 'Cons echoes, disbelief written in the very set of his armour. “That ain’t like you Ricochet.”

Jazz shrugged. “Megatron wants me to keep him online. He won't be too happy if I accidentally deactivate him.”

The Decepticons nod in agreement before one of them tilts his helm. “Am I the only one to notice that the repair bay isn't this way?”

::Extinguish them.:: I am not expecting the comm and it takes me a moment to realise what Jazz has just ordered me to do. And then a mech is lunging for me. His blade bites into my forearm as I block, pushing it away from my spark. He grins, optics lighting up with the thrill of battle as he wrenches it free of my armour, energon, _my energon_ , glistening as he pulls back for another strike.

I push the error messages away, bringing my own arm up to stop the blow and his optics flicker. Disbelief winding around me as his field dims and disappears. He collapses to the floor in a clatter of already greying armour as I pull my arm back, my heavy armour grade saw still idly spinning. I hadn't consciously realised I had transformed it. I hadn't meant to, it's not a weapon, Primus, it's linked to my medical coding, it should have been impossible for me to use it in a fight. I follow the coding thread, nothing looks broken, except there is simply _no_ medical coding there at all, just seamless weaponry code, linking my saw directly to my defensive reflexes.

“Snap out of it Ratch.” Jazz's snarl cuts into my processor. “Focus on the mission, you can break down later.” He continues on a private comm line, ::do not make me leave you here.::

That gets the rest of my attention and I snap my helm around, coding problem set aside for the more pressing issue. ::You wouldn't?::

::Normally, no, but orders are to get Prowl back at _any_ cost.:: I can hear it in his tone, he really would leave me here. I stumble back to my feet, only now seeing the other four frames. I almost ask Jazz if he got them all until I see the silver and blue ghost mech who brought us our orders helping Prowl to his feet.

We exit the base in silence, the mech on watch duty never even seeing the invisible killer who deactivated him so that we could hurry through and out into the wasteland surrounding the base.

“Hold it.” I have never been so glad to see an Autobot symbol until weapons begin to charge. “Decepticon scum.”

“Wait.” Prowl's plea is near silent, yet it draws the attention of the Autobots like ferrite to a magnet.

“Prowl.” One of the Autobots says before the weapons rearrange to focus on myself and Jazz instead of on their own tactician. “Drop him Decepticon.”

“And damage him even further after all the trouble we had getting him out of there.” Jazz replies, apparently unfazed by the arsenal unerringly targeting his spark core. “We're Autobot agents.”

Once again I feel the buzzing thrum of comm transmissions and I have to wonder just how Jazz seems to have every code possible.

“I've called in a transport so we can move faster.” He doesn't mention any names but I can catch the relief at being able to finally stop on Prowl's face.

With the transports arrival I can finally relax, the Autobot patrol clusters around it as we head through the abandoned city, using the routes cleared by patrols to make better time. Unless they send a wing of seekers it is unlikely that they'll be able to catch us now.

::Medic!:: I swerve as a transmission roars through my processor, I transform in a tangle of limbs, scrambling to my feet, my saw humming, again without any conscious thought to activate it. The patrol regroups around the transport, ready to protect its cargo, weapons charging as they scan the shadows, searching for whatever has spooked me.

“Ratch?” I wave Jazz away as the same voice speaks again.

::I know you are receiving this medic.:: He is as cold as the depths of space and I can't stop the shiver that passes over my frame, my energon feeling like it is freezing in my tubing. ::You better hope I never catch you, the consequences for you will not be pleasant medic.:: There is an audible click as he signs off and I take a moment to blacklist his signal and block him from communicating again in the future.

“Ratchet, what's wrong?” Jazz is insistent as he sidles up to me, his blade glinting as he twirls it.

“Just thought I heard something, I must have been mistaken.” I turn back towards home, flipping back into my alt form, our escort falling in again. I ignore the muttering about mechs not made for the front lines and false alarms. I wasn't going to tell them that I had just been contacted by Megatron himself with a promise of a violent deactivation for betraying him.


End file.
